Synchronization
by Feral Phoenix
Summary: Kumo learns what it is to lose what makes you who you are... and remembers what it is to be loved. [Twoshot, After spoilers. Cloudshipping in the second chapter.]
1. Hollowness

Synchronization

Disclaimer: I don't own FF:U. This twoshot is mine, though. Thank Reinna. She's inspiring. But mostly, I wrote this because I felt this subplot deserved more than the three or four sentences total it gets in After and the series summary in the final-episode-drama-CD's dust jacket.

:Hollowness:

And with a jolt, he awoke.

For one long, suspended moment, Kumo had no idea where he was or how he'd gotten here. For that brief, eternal expanse, all memory, all self-knowledge evaded him completely, and there was only a mild pang of irony that hinted to him that this situation should be familiar in some way.

And then the pain hit, solid agony that dragged a sharp gasp from his raw throat, seizing his entire body but especially that bitter wound just below his ribs. He remembered that, and remembered the screaming that had all but broken his voice, and then everything else followed.

_Damned Chaos. _If Kumo was here, alive, even after imprisoning that _thing _with his soul itself, and telling Kaze to destroy them both—then it hadn't worked. Again. Chaos' body might have been lost, but its high priest Oscha would just find it another one. _Why? _After they'd all fought so hard, it was a bitter, unfair outcome. What would it take?

Kumo _knew _that it should've worked. Not just now—the first time, almost thirteen years ago now. He'd learned back then that it wasn't only his and Kaze's Unlimited potential that Chaos had feared and hated so, it was the inherited powers of Mystaria and Windaria themselves—Mist, and Soil. He and Kaze had used them to fight Chaos—so _why _hadn't it been destroyed, then or now?

Kumo closed his eyes and managed something between a weak whimper and a hoarse moan, settling his right arm across the wound that had almost killed him. He couldn't ever remember being in this much sheer physical agony. It was almost too much for him to take.

But—he had to take it. He had to keep living, and find out just _what _it was that Chaos truly feared about Soil and Mist. So that he and Kaze could beat it back, and restore the true balance between order and chaos, so that their lives could finally start again after they'd been so cruelly halted so long ago.

So that Kumo could finally, _finally _grieve for all he had lost.

He opened his eyes again and raised his arm. His sleeve and the bandages across his cut and scraped palm were splotched red; he was still bleeding. No wonder it hurt so much. Well, he doubted he could get back to sleep so easily—so he'd just call a soft haze of Mist to soothe his battered body.

But when he tried, nothing came.

Quiet horror bloomed in Kumo's heart as incomprehension tangled his thoughts. This couldn't be right. Had he not—not called strongly enough? Or had his throat been hurt in the conflict—worn too raw with his own desperate cries?

Although Kumo tried again and again, nothing ever came.

_Oh, no. No. _Panic jolted from Kumo's belly to his chest, and he fought through the excruciating pain that weighed his body down, sitting up and then standing, crossing the small room in unsteady steps to the mirror on the wall.

As he stared into his own wide green eyes, Kumo felt along the side of his throat. His Mist gland was there, a hard curve along the side of his larynx, but try as he might, he just couldn't produce any at all.

Fragmented memories of Kaze and his condition after the first battle with Chaos spilled through Kumo's mind. The Magun, broken—incapable of sustaining its thawed form, incapable of processing and heating Soil in order to summon. Nothing had been wrong with _Kumo _after that fight. But Kaze had been the one to contain Chaos then. Chaos had damaged him somehow, and until those children had come along, Kaze's formidable powers had been severed and unreliable.

Well, their roles had switched in the last battle. But Kumo wasn't just damaged or rendered only partially reliable. His Mist was just _gone._

An awful, hollow feeling washed through Kumo's body as his legs gave out, sending him sprawling onto the floor. He didn't want to believe, didn't know if he could take it in without his mind shattering completely, but—it was there, a solid and undeniable truth, no matter how painful or ugly.

But Kumo's Mist was part of his _soul. _It had always been there, _always. _What was he without it? What was a Mystarian without his Mist?

The question cut him to the heart the way that nothing had been able to since Chaos had brought his beloved brother back to life and forced the two of them to do battle.

The need to escape seized Kumo's body, too powerful to ignore, though he would carry his hollow helplessness with him wherever he went. Painfully regaining his feet, Kumo lurched for the door in uneven steps, forcing it open and spilling out into the hall, too weak to remain standing on his own.

"Hey! Are you alright?! What are you doing up so soon?"

That voice. Kumo recognized it as belonging to the Comodeen woman—he'd never known her name. He looked up to find her standing next to him; she'd apparently been walking down the hall when he'd fallen right in front of her. As he stared up at her, her image blurring and wavering as numb tears burned his eyes, her shocked expression changed to a worried one, and she knelt down at his side.

"What's wrong?"

Kumo couldn't answer. Just _thinking _it seared his heart, threatened his already unstable mind with insanity. He couldn't possibly put it into words.

Seeing his stunned silence and his inability to speak, she reached out and put her arm around his shoulders, wiping away the handful of stray tears he'd let fall from his cheeks with her free hand.

Kumo wanted badly to collapse into those supporting arms and just _cry, _the way he hadn't been able to in so long. But he couldn't. Not only would Chaos only gain that much more power from him if he did, but he highly doubted his tortured soul could stand the strain now.

He tried to speak, to tell her not to waste her sympathies, but before he could get a single word out, agony seared through his body. Gasping, he clutched at his wound.

"Take it easy," she advised him. "I'm amazed you even got this far without help. It's only been a few days since the Comodeen found you—and you're damn lucky we did, we only crashed here by chance—if you overexert yourself, you're going to tear your stitches out."

"…………" Kumo shuddered and fought back the pain. "This…"

"You're on our airship," she supplied. "The Earl damaged our submarine, but we managed to get back to our base in time to save Lisa, the twins, and their parents when Gaudium fell apart." She frowned as she looked at him. "They told us you and Kaze were dead."

_Because we should be. _But Kumo didn't say those words aloud; he just shook his head at her.

"At any rate, you've got to get back to bed. Even you won't be able to heal from wounds like that unless you get plenty of rest. Here, I'll help."

"Wait…" Kumo shook his head. "I—must talk to your people first…"

She sighed defeatedly. "Alright, but then you need to get your sleep. Nobody in the Comodeen will let you go on like this. Even if you don't care about yourself at all, you risked your life to protect us. We won't let you die."

Kumo didn't speak as she helped him to his feet. Somehow, he had to convince these people to cease their foolish fight against Chaos—it would only get them hurt in the end—and he had to think of something, of some way he could take care of things without his Mist, or how he could get it back. Thinking too much hurt, but as long as Chaos still threatened worlds with the horrible fate his own had met, he could not give in.

He had to make this all work—somehow.

:tsuzuku:


	2. Completion

Synchronization

See disclaimer in part one

:Completion:

As the voice faded away and Kumo's tears spilled, there was a bright, solid tone through the air, and he was suddenly surrounded by deep scarlet Mist. It was soft and warm and supportive as a lover's embrace, and it haloed Kumo's body and cradled him and then suddenly there was an answering tone resonating from deep within him. The two notes resembled Kumo's memory of choir bells, and they were tuned to a perfect fifth, the basis of a resounding major chord.

And the pain from the many wounds Kumo received in battle with Soljashy's monsters was gone as though it had been switched off, and none of them would have mattered anyway, because Kumo was so _happy _and the knot of tears he'd thought had frozen at his throat had melted and freed and a wild, thoughtless joy had risen from deep, deep within his soul.

The tears felt good. There was something so exquisitely beautiful in just letting your emotions do as they pleased, in being able to _feel _openly after suppressing your heart for so long. Kumo tilted his face back in the soft halo of Kiri's Mist and laughed as he cried.

Kiri's Mist was getting lighter, getting thinner, but not because it was dissipating—because Kumo's own body was absorbing it, drinking it in. Because just as Kiri had said, his Mist was Kumo's now, and not only was the bright, bell-like tone of Kumo's own soul restored to him, but there was the deeper, cheerful tone of his brother's _madou _right beneath it. A perfect fifth—just like before, just like _always._

Kiri still loved him. Kiri always would.

There was another tone through the air, and Kumo looked down, surprised but knowing that really he couldn't expect any end to Kiri's gifts, to see the crystal Crux had carried meld to her chest, to see her small body waver and glow until she had become almost the double of Kiri's Maken, streaked with pink and gold down the sides with a white cross slashed from the hilt to the very tip.

And even as he looked out at the mass of monsters before him, Kumo's wild joy only grew—for it had been joined by a deep and unconquerable wellspring of _hope._

_Just like we practiced, now… right, my beloved little brother…?_

Kumo breathed Mist—_breathed Mist!—_a single deep, powerful chord that filled the surrounding air with deep, billowing white. Soljashy's creations were still coming towards him, but Soljashy never saw Kumo like this before—never saw him restored, as a Mystarian was meant to be; never saw him with his heart so _full._

Never saw him _whole._

Kumo pulled two Mist bottles from his belt, and even the echo of surprise in his chest rippled into joy as the second bottle glowed and its Mist turned a deep rose red in one solid wave. His Maken rested as he took instead the hilt of the sword forged from the pure emotions of those who loved him the most, its pulse as joyful as his own.

Kumo wasn't worried about winning or losing anymore. Everything was consumed in the wild joy of being one with Kiri in spirit once more, of his brother's spiritual presence everywhere between and around and within him and Crux. Kumo had faith in his brother. Kiri would most certainly guide him to victory.

He held both Mist bottles, white and red, before him, and called out the words Kiri had given him, the words from a distant memory of brighter days.

"Now again, it's time for your tone of _madou _to reawaken. Play the soul's melody!" _Play it with me, Niisama. _**"The Phoenix Duet!"**

_Soutouju. _That's what this technique was called, Kumo remembered as the two Ittouju erupted from the bottles, one white, one red, twined together like a dual-hued braid, keening love and rapture back and forth, splitting apart to vaporize waves of enemies before curling together again. A tandem summon, twinned dragons born of separate users whose souls were in perfect harmony.

Everything, _everything _was joy. Kiri was with him. Kiri loved him. Kiri had loved him all along. Kumo had been a fool to ever doubt his worthiness in that because of Chaos' cruelty. Nothing, _nothing _could tear their souls apart again.

The pure tone of the Soutouju filled the air even after they were gone, even as Kumo's beautiful new sword melted back into a bewildered but exhilarated Crux, even as he caught her and held her close. Kumo was _happy. _He couldn't even remember the last time he'd been so happy.

He wanted to show everyone, tell everyone. He wanted the twins to see this, to see the love that there had been between him and Kiri. He wanted Lisa to see it, so that it would give her hope for the future again. He wanted the Comodeen to see it, to raise their spirits again. He wanted Kaze to see it—because Kumo finally understood the purpose of Soil and Mist, because he _finally _understood what it was to be Unlimited.

Now that Kiri was with him again, now that he and Kiri and Crux could fight together in a perfect trinity, he knew: Being Unlimited was _joy, _and it was _hope. _Two things that nothing could ever fully eradicate, two things that reinforced one another as the spiral and the line would when they were made as one in the face of Chaos.

Kumo didn't have to fight _against _Kaze to destroy Chaos. He had to fight _with _him.

That one pure truth only strengthened Kumo's brilliant happiness, only put a sharp, near-painful edge to his hope.

Even as he cried, he laughed, and closed his eyes and saw Kiri beaming at him proudly, felt Kiri's warm arms encircle him, felt Kiri's lips seal against his.

Kumo was _loved. _He was _restored. _He was _whole _again.

And he had never felt more complete.

:owari:

**A/N:** I was so mad at Squeenix for reducing the heartbreakingly beautiful conclusion to Kiri and Kumo's story in FF:U to a little blurb in the After 2 booklet. DD: So I decided to do it real justice—with liberal Cloudshipping added in, of course! I put the focus on how empty and broken Kumo felt after losing his Mist for contrast with how loved he felt once Kiri helped him get it back. Aww, Kumo—you need more happy moments!

Being so happy that you just want to outright _bawl _is the most awesome feeling in the world. The only anime moments that have ever made me feel that way were episode 48 of Eureka Seven (have I mentioned I _love _that show/hugs it) and this scene right here.


End file.
